


Dovahkiin: Wolf

by sorrowfulcheese



Series: Dovahkiin [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:18:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrowfulcheese/pseuds/sorrowfulcheese
Summary: Terribly self-indulgent exploration of the Dovahkiin's relationships in Whiterun, from the moment she was invited to join the Companions.





	

    "What were you thinking?" Vilkas sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands dangling. "You can't just ask any random wanderer to join."  
   
    Farkas lay stretched out on his back in his bed, hands folded over his middle and eyes on the ceiling, and he listened.  
   
    "You don't know the first thing about her," Vilkas went on. "She could be Silver Hand in disguise. She could be part of the Dark Brotherhood. She could be—"  
   
    She was not Silver Hand, Farkas mused; he'd have noticed it. He could smell silver just passing a jewelry stall in the market, never mind on someone who used it as a weapon. And no one who wanted any Companions dead would bother with a contract with the Dark Brotherhood, would they? Much easier just to walk into Jorrvaskr and challenge them. In any case, she didn't smell of old blood either. Not an assassin.  
  
    In fact, she smelled a little like a spring day, like sunshine and grass and crisp snow—  
   
    “—too well of other people,” Vilkas finished. “You can’t afford to be so trusting.”  
   
    Farkas turned his head to look at his brother. Vilkas was not angry, nor even annoyed; he was, as always, simply and genuinely concerned. “I can,” Farkas said. “You’re mistrustful enough for both of us.”  
   
    Vilkas snorted a laugh despite his mood, sighed, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to lessen. “Well,” he said. “What did she do that impressed you so much?” He turned his head, pale eyes catching the light from the lantern.  
   
    Farkas looked up at the ceiling again, thoughtful. He and Ria had pincered the giant, while Aela shot it repeatedly with arrows about the head and shoulders. As he'd dodged the giant's club, Farkas had glimpsed movement from the corner of his eye, spotted the wanderer on the road; she had pulled up short, as though startled to see them—and in the next breath she'd turned to race toward them. Without missing a step she had drawn a heavy warhammer and thrown herself into the fray, striking hard at the giant’s knees and ankles. The beast had crumpled, howling, and once it was down Farkas had driven his blade through the back of its neck, ending it swiftly. It would have come to that eventually, of course, but she—  
   
    “She’s strong,” Farkas said. And then, after a moment, “And fearless.”  
  
    "Stupid can sometimes look like fearless."  
  
    "Mm."  
   
    “And she looks like a half-decent wind could blow her away, if she wasn’t weighted down with that armour."  
   
    “Mm.” His brother was not wrong on either count. She was small, had to tilt her head up to look any of them in the eye. But strength did not always follow size. And when she had pulled off her helmet to talk with him, he'd seen a definite spark in her eyes, bright and calculating—but not menacing.  
  
    "Where's she from?"  
  
    "Didn't ask."  
  
    "Just invited her home, huh?"  
  
    Farkas turned his head to look at Vilkas again. "Told her to come if she wanted to. She did. That's all."  
  
    "You're soft inside, brother," Vilkas told him affectionately, and smacked his shoulder. "One of these days it's going to get you into trouble." He stood and headed for the door.  
  
    "Hasn't yet," Farkas noted. He turned to his side, reached up and doused the lantern.  
  
    "Yet," Vilkas intoned, and Farkas could hear him smile. Vilkas shut the door behind himself, and the dim light from the hall vanished, cloaking Farkas in gentle darkness.  
  


* * *

  
  
    "I like her," Aela said quietly. "And it's good to have new blood here." She shrugged. "She’s skilled, and she thinks fast on her feet. I don't foresee a problem."  
  
    "Nor do I," Skjor agreed. "If she can prove herself honourable, and she can pass whatever tests Kodlak puts to her, then she’s welcome here. But the old man seemed to be _expecting_ her, and that makes me uneasy."  
  
    Aela chuckled, played with a spoonful of broth. "None of us expected her, I promise you. Not even Kodlak." She turned her head slightly, glanced around the empty hall, and she dropped her voice low. "You should have seen Farkas' face when she came barrelling in the way she did. Like the Nine themselves had dropped out of the sky."  
  
    "Smitten, was he?" Skjor wondered, and stared into middle distance as he considered. She was Breton, he guessed, from what little he’d seen; definitely not Nord, not with those features, that colouring. Her hair was cropped short, her face starkly painted with dark sweeps from beneath her eyes that branched up to her temples. Possibly from the Reach. A puzzle, wrapped in heavy steel armour. He would never have thought _dainty_ to be Farkas' type.  
  
    "Can't say," Aela shrugged again. "I don’t think he actually noticed _her_. He was just impressed by what she did.”  
  
    Skjor wiped his plate with the heel of his bread, stuffed the bread into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Farkas tended to notice a great deal more than anyone expected of him, and he was content to let people interpret his reticence as stupidity; underestimating Farkas invariably turned around to bite someone on the ass. Skjor swallowed his mouthful, wiped his hands and face, and sat back from the table. "I wonder if Vilkas will be just as impressed."  
  
    Aela tipped her bowl and drank down her broth. "Who knows? They don’t exactly think alike.”  
  
    Far from it, Skjor agreed silently. Vilkas was fiery, passionate, wore his heart like a terrible shield. Farkas was content to let Vilkas talk for both of them, kept his thoughts and feelings quietly to himself. The only time Skjor had seen Farkas out of control was at his first turning. He bit down on a smile at the memory; it had taken the whole Circle to corral and subdue Farkas that night. But now, even in his beast form—come to think of it, when had he last seen Farkas turn?—Farkas was clear-headed, deliberate. Vilkas was the temperamental one, always questioning, demanding, judging swiftly and leaping headlong into battle.  
  
    As though summoned by Skjor’s thoughts, Vilkas stalked up the stairs from the living quarters, a scowl on his face, followed by the initiate. "Come along, whelp," he growled. "Time to test your arm." She did not speak, but looked curiously around the hall as she followed Vilkas none too swiftly to the doors leading to the training yard.  
  
    "This I need to see," Aela said, once the doors swung shut after the pair, and she tilted her head at Skjor, an invitation. Amused, he moved to join her.  
  
    Outside, Skjor leaned against one of the heavy wooden struts that held up the roof of the verandah next to the training yard, and folded his arms. Aela stood next to him, silent and still. At one of the tables, a mug in his hand and one heel resting on another chair, Farkas sat watching his brother, his pale eyes giving away nothing of his thoughts. Njada sat cross-legged at one end of the yard, and watched with narrow-eyed interest.  
  
    Vilkas walked an impatient circle as he muttered to himself, something Skjor could not quite hear. At last he sighed, shook out his limbs, and turned to face the young woman. "Well," he said, “we don't have all day. Take up arms and show me what you've got." He nodded to the weapons racks around the yard.  
  
    She hesitated. "What do you mean?"  
  
    Vilkas stared at her a moment. "Do you not know how to use a sword and shield?"  
  
    "I suppose," she said.  
  
    "What does that mean?"  
  
    "I mean, I was _taught_ how—"  
  
    "Then pick up a sword and shield," Vilkas interrupted her, with an impatient gesture to the weapons racks. She turned unhurriedly to obey, took her time choosing a sword, hefted each one in each hand to test its balance before she made a selection, and then she did the same with the shields.  
  
    Vilkas' temper ran hot at the best of times, and this whelp seemed determined to draw it out of him. Skjor glanced down at Farkas—who hadn't moved except to drink from his mug—then at Aela.  
  
    “Thought you said she was fast,” he murmured, for Aela’s ears only.  
  
    Aela leaned forward suddenly, braced her hands on the railing. "What's your name, whelp?" she demanded.  
  
    "Ehlana," was the prompt reply.  
  
    "Get on with it, then, Ehlana," Aela went on. "None of us has all day for this." She gestured at Vilkas, who stood motionless, jaw tight.  
  
    "I'm sorry," Ehlana said. "I'm just—" She pursed her lips, squared her shoulders. "Yes," she said, and turned to face Vilkas, sword and shield at the ready.  
  
    "Let's do this," Vilkas intoned. "Just have a few swings at me, so I can see your form." He smiled coolly. "Don't worry, I can take it."  
  
    "Just—try to hit you?" she said uneasily.  
  
    Vilkas drew his own sword and hefted his shield. "Do it," he snapped.  
  
    Skjor wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Aela had told him what she had seen at Pelagia's farm, and he trusted her judgment as well as her memory. Still, he was startled by the sudden speed with which Ehlana shot forward and slammed her sword repeatedly against Vilkas' shield, striking sparks and forcing Vilkas to step back to brace himself.  
  
    "Not bad," Vilkas said at last through clenched teeth, as he and Ehlana straightened and lowered their weapons.  
  
    "Thank you," she replied, and waited.  
  
    "Look," he said, "you've got a good arm, and Kodlak's not wrong—we have plenty of beds and a need for new blood. But you're just a whelp, and you'll do as we tell you. Understand?"  
  
    "Yes." She shook off the shield and rested its edge on the ground, rocked it from side to side with her fingertips.  
  
    "Stop doing that," Vilkas told her. "Listen. Here's my sword. Go take it up to Eorlund to have it sharpened." He held it out to her. She looked down at the sword in her hand and back up at Vilkas. "Put that one back," he said impatiently. "Can you not act without orders?"  
  
    "Of course," she told him. "But you said I have to do as you tell me." Skjor was sure she was being deliberately aggravating now, but her face and her tone gave away nothing.  
  
    Beside him, Aela straightened, folded her arms. "Don't be an ass, whelp," she said with amusement. "Rack the sword and shield and do as Vilkas has ordered you."  
  
    Ehlana turned to look at Aela, her expression carefully solemn, but Skjor saw a spark of something dance in her eyes, saw a bare twitch pull at the corners of her mouth; he blinked and they were gone, replaced with calm disinterest. "Of course," she said simply, and moved—slowly, once again—to replace the sword and shield on the racks from which she'd taken them. She returned to Vilkas and took his sword, hefted it in her right hand, then her left.  
  
    "And be careful," Vilkas snapped. "It's probably worth more than you are."  
  
    Ehlana froze, looked up at Vilkas without lifting her head, and Skjor anticipated another smart remark. "No probably about it," she said quietly. Without another word she headed in the direction of Skyforge, Vilkas' sword resting easily on her shoulder, her steps even and deliberate.  
  
    When she was gone from sight, Vilkas let his shoulders sag. "Divines take me now," he muttered, and glared at his brother. "Why did you ask her to come here, again?"  
  
    Farkas drained his mug, set it down on the table. "Told her to come if she wanted to," he said amiably. "She did." He stood and stretched, rolled his shoulders, and made his way lazily back inside.  
  
    Aela chuckled, and Vilkas turned his gaze on her. "What's so funny?" he demanded.  
  
    "Nothing," she assured him. "But you shouldn't let her get under your skin like that. She's a whelp. She's going to push your limits to see how far you'll let her go. Don't let her push too far."  
  
    "I wouldn't have her here pushing me at all," Vilkas informed her, as he climbed up to the verandah. "But the old man wants her here, so I keep my mouth shut."  
  
    "Not very well," Skjor pointed out. Before Vilkas could respond, Skjor swung out a broad hand, caught the back of the younger man's head, and dragged him toward the door. "A drink," he suggested. "We can both use one, yes?"  
  
    Vilkas muttered something that sounded more or less positive as he permitted Skjor to guide him inside. With a few mugs of ale in him, Vilkas finally relaxed, and Skjor felt confident the day would progress on a positive note.  
  


* * *

  
      
    The fire was warm and bright, and Farkas stared into its depths, imagined he could see figures dancing among the flames. It was a childish habit that he'd never quite lost.  
  
    He turned his head to the right. Ehlana sat cross-legged, writing in her journal by the firelight. She wrote every night if she could. He wondered briefly what she was writing about—though tonight, he supposed, it wouldn't take much guessing.  
  
    "Hey," he said softly. She looked up at him, eyebrows raised in question. "You sure you're all right?"  
  
    She flashed a fierce grin at him. "I am," she said. "Are you?"  
  
    Farkas shrugged. "I'm not the one that got—surprised—tonight," he pointed out. "Most people wouldn't handle it very well, I think."  
  
    She looked thoughtfully at him a moment. "Well," she said at last, "it's not the first time I've seen a werewolf." She closed her journal, tucked it into her pouch; she capped her ink bottle and dropped it in as well, then used a small cloth to clean her quill. "The first time I've seen someone I know transform," she added, "but not my first werewolf." She smiled, rueful. "Most of the ones I've met before have tried to kill me.”  
  
    "Most aren't trained," Farkas told her. "It can be overwhelming, and if you don't have control—" He sighed. "You just looked a little scared, before, is all." He searched her face for clues to her thoughts. He didn't want her to be afraid of him.  
  
    Ehlana put away the quill, shifted closer to him and settled, legs still crossed beneath her. "I was startled,” she admitted. “I mean, you don’t seem like someone who has—that side to him.” She watched him another moment. “But then again, you can’t judge a book’s contents by its binding, right?”  
  
    He watched the firelight dance in her dark eyes and his chest ached. "Right," he managed.  
  
    "And in any case, you did what you needed to do, tonight. If you hadn't, you might have been killed. We both might have."  
  
    Farkas nodded slowly. "We try not to use the beast form," he confessed. "Kodlak and Vilkas and I. It's been a long time since I changed." He sighed. "I suppose I'd best tell the old man about today."  
  
    "Will it be a problem?" she wondered.  
  
    "No.”  
  
    “Why do you try not to use the form? It’s very powerful.”  
  
    “Yeah, it is,” Farkas agreed. “But the Circle wasn’t always like this. Beasts, I mean. One of our ancestors made a deal for the additional power, and we got the beast form on our end of it.” He shrugged again, a little. “Kodlak thinks we shouldn’t need it. Thinks we’ve given away a part of ourselves for something that’s not worth the price.”  
  
    Ehlana nodded, thoughtful. She lifted a hand, then, patted his biceps gently. Her fingers were warm. "You're plenty strong as you are, anyway." She smiled, drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.  
  
    Farkas was grateful for the dark, so she couldn't see the colour that rose up his neck and over his ears. "Yeah," he said.  
  
    She chuckled. "How did you and your brother end up becoming Companions, anyway?" He thought about that, long enough that Ehlana shifted where she sat. "You don't have to say anything," she told him quietly. "I'm sorry—"  
  
    "No," Farkas said at last, and looked down at his hands. "When Vilkas and I were really young, our family got taken by necromancers. They killed our parents." He cleared his throat. He hadn't had nightmares for a long time, but it was still difficult to remember, to talk about it. "For their rituals. Vilkas and I weren't big enough for anything they needed. They shoved us into a cage while they decided what to do with us." He took a deep breath and looked at Ehlana again. "We weren't there long, maybe a day or so. Then Jergen came in the room, holding the biggest sword we'd ever seen, all dripping blood. We didn't know what to think." He grinned despite himself. "He let us out of the cage, carried us back to Jorrvaskr with him. Didn't know what else to do with us." He shrugged. "And we’ve been there ever since. Tilma took good care of us any time Jergen was away. Jergen and Kodlak and the others trained us when we got big enough. And when we were old enough, we joined the Companions."  
  
    "What happened to Jergen?" Ehlana wondered. "Is he no longer with the Companions?"  
  
    "He died in the war. Went off one day to fight, and never came back." He looked at the fire. "I still miss him. He was a good father to us."  
  
    "I'm sorry."  
  
    He flashed a brief smile. "Thanks." He looked up at her again. "How about you?" he said. "What were you doing in Whiterun that night you came and helped us with that giant?"  
  
    "Ah, well," she said with an exaggerated motion of her shoulders. "I had only just narrowly escaped execution and a dragon attack at Helgen—"  
  
    "What."  
  
    "—after which I followed an Imperial soldier to Riverwood where his uncle the blacksmith took us in for the night, and then the smith sent me to Whiterun to warn the Jarl about the dragon—"  
  
    "Wait, _what_?"  
  
    She grinned. "Which part don't you believe?"  
  
    "I don't not believe you," Farkas said. "Why were you going to be executed?"  
  
    Ehlana shook her head. "I was walking along minding my own business when I happened upon what I now know was a Stormcloak camp. I stopped to trade with their quartermaster. Imperials ambushed the camp and because I was there, they arrested me too." She shrugged. "They took me and a few others to Helgen, for execution." She wrapped her arms tighter around her knees, and rocked a little as she stared into the fire. "My head was actually on the block, when the dragon attacked." She was quiet a moment. "I got up and I ran. It was all I could think to do. All I could do, with my hands bound. Then I saw Hadvar—the Imperial soldier—and he dragged me with him to safety, cut me free. We barely made it out." She flashed a weak smile, then sobered. "I had nothing, not even my own clothes. The Imperials had taken everything from us when we'd been captured, armour and weapons too, and they gave us some rags to wear." She made a face and shrugged. "No sense wrecking good clothing and armour with blood, right? On our way out of Helgen, I stole some armour from a dead soldier and took his weapon, so I'd at least have a chance for survival. Hadvar got me to Riverwood. His uncle's the smith, there. Alvor let us stay the night, but asked me to go to Whiterun to warn the Jarl."  
  
    "Huh. So when we saw you—"  
  
    "That was the day after I made it to Whiterun. Jarl Balgruuf gifted me with some new armour in thanks for my service, and I was just heading out again to run an errand for his steward when I saw you and Ria and Aela." She turned her head slightly and smiled at him. "I'd fought giants before, and I figured you could use the help."  
  
    "Well," Farkas said, "it wasn't necessary. But it was definitely welcome." He searched her face. "Before that, though," he said, cautious. "Where are you from?"  
  
    She seemed suddenly to grow smaller, and was perfectly still. "The Rift," she said vaguely. "But I wanted to see the rest of Skyrim. So I left home."  
  
    "You got family?"  
  
    "Back home."  
      
    Plainly, Farkas realised, she didn't want to talk about that. Maybe another time, he supposed. They both fell quiet, then, and all around them there were the songs of night birds, and distant wolf calls, and the crackling of the fire. When Farkas looked up again, Ehlana's head was drooping, her eyelids heavy. "You should get some sleep," he said softly.  
  
    "Sure," she murmured, but did not move.  
  
    "You want to sleep where you are?"  
  
    "Not really."  
  
    "Then get up and get in your bedroll."  
  
    "Yes, boss," she said with a rueful smile. She rolled to her knees and crawled the scant space between herself and her bedroll. She unbuckled her chestplate, pulled it off over her head and set it aside with her helmet, then wrapped herself up in her fur-lined bedroll until her face was the only part of her visible in the firelight. Her eyes closed and soon her breathing was even.  
  
    Farkas sat looking into the fire for an hour longer, before he banked it for the night and climbed into his own bedroll.  
  


* * *

  
  
    The sun was warm, and the market's low position in the city protected it from the cold wind that blew around Whiterun. If she closed her eyes, it almost felt like home. The sellers' voices rang out, coaxing patrons to their stalls; not far away a cow lowed softly. A big dog galloped past with a small child chasing it, breathless and laughing. The odours of woodsmoke and metal and fresh, bloody meat filled the air.  
  
    But the accents of the sellers' words were not quite right, and the sun wasn't quite warm enough, and she could not smell the myriad flowers that always filled the markets back home. Ehlana stifled a sigh, shook her head and pushed the thoughts from her mind. She was here and it was now, and she wanted to sell off some scrap metal she'd gathered on her last mission. Ria accompanied her, ostensibly in search of something at the market—she hadn't elaborated on her need—and they walked easily together.       
  
    "I killed a bear the other day, while I was hunting with Vilkas," Ria told her, pride and delight in her voice. "How about you?"  
  
    Ehlana smiled and looked up at her as they passed through the market and toward the blacksmith. It was hard to stay gloomy around Ria, who seemed to find joy in every small thing.  "How big was it?"  
  
    "Snow bear. Pretty big."  
  
    "Snow bears are tough to take down," Ehlana mused. "They're faster than they look, and their claws are deadly. You weren't hurt, were you?"  
  
    "Just some bruises," Ria said, with feigned nonchalance. "The bear definitely got the worse end of the fight. And Vilkas let me keep the hide."  
  
    "Are you going to make something with it?"  
  
    Ria laughed. "I don't know. I was thinking it would make a good trophy."  
  
    "It would," Ehlana agreed. "It would also make excellent armour. A cloak to keep you warm when you're wandering around in the mountains. Or just tan it and use it as a blanket."  
  
    "You're always so full of good ideas," Ria said. "I don't know how to do any of that."  
  
    "You don't need to," Ehlana pointed out. "There are plenty of people in town who can do it for you."  
  
    Ria eyed her sidewise. "But you know how, don't you?"  
  
    Ehlana shrugged, looked up to watch a pair of sparrows flit past. "I know a bit," she admitted. "But I'd rather let a tradesperson do it. Someone with the right skills can make the most of every little bit of material you bring them." She looked at Ria again. "I know someone in Windhelm who could do some amazing work with that hide for you. For a price, of course, but I might be able to call in a favour."  
  
    Ria's eyes lit up. "Really? You'd do that?"  
  
    "I would, if you would like." Ehlana smiled again. "I've been asked to investigate something there, so I'll be heading out tomorrow anyway."  
  
    "Oh." Ria hesitated. "Are you going alone?"  
  
    "Probably," Ehlana told her. "It's a—sensitive matter. It might be better if I can draw as little attention to what I'm doing as possible."  
  
    "Oh," Ria said again, deflating.  
  
    "I'm sorry, Ria," Ehlana said. "We'll get out together soon enough." She flashed an encouraging smile, reached up and patted Ria between her shoulderblades, and Ria cheered immediately.  
  
    They climbed the steps to the door of the blacksmith's shop, and Ehlana marched in without hesitation. Ulfberth lifted his head from a book he was reading, and his countenance brightened. "Back again," he said with a broad smile. "What can I do for you, my friend?" He put a marker in his book and shut it.  
  
    "I have some scrap to unload," Ehlana said, and lifted her knapsack to the counter. She unfastened the buckles and let Ulfberth rummage at his whim.  
  
    "Good stuff here," he noted. "You want to trade, or you want the gold this time?"  
  
    "Gold this time," Ehlana said. "I'm saving up."  
  
    Ulfberth grinned. "I see."  
  
    "Do you, now," Ehlana said drily. "What can you give me for it?"  
  
    "Well, some of it's going to be hard to melt down, but on the other hand, it's high quality." He looked into the knapsack again, lips pursed and eyes narrowed as he calculated. "I can give you five hundred for all the little bits, and three hundred more for the big one." He looked up at Ehlana, questioning.  
  
    "Deal," she said. It was less than she'd hoped for, but not enough to haggle over. Ulfberth was nothing if not fair.  
  
    "All right, then," he said cheerfully, and slid the knapsack behind the counter. It landed with a metallic thud. "Music to my ears," Ulfberth declared it. "Let me get your gold." He vanished behind the counter for a moment and Ehlana listened to the soft clink of coins. Ria leaned on the counter, thoughtful, and looked around the shop. At last Ulfberth stood, a heavy purse in one hand, an empty one in another. Deftly he counted out coins from the full purse and dropped them into the empty one while Ehlana watched, and he grinned up at her when he had done. "You want to count them again?" He pulled the drawstring on the second purse and handed it over to her.  
  
    "If it's not all there," Ehlana assured him, as she dropped the purse into her own bag, "I do know where you live."  
  
    Ulfberth's belly laugh followed them back out into the streets of Whiterun. Ehlana inhaled deeply, then exhaled and turned to retrace her steps back to Jorrvaskr. As they walked, her eyes strayed to the locked door, the empty windows of the house known as Breezehome. It was so tempting, but it was not to be. She shook her head and reminded herself that she had things to do, things to see, so much to learn before—  
  
    "Are you thinking of buying a house?" Ria wondered. "Is that what Ulfberth meant?"  
  
    "No," Ehlana said absently. "I need some other things."  
  
    "Like?"  
  
    "Like a whetstone, for one. New boots. Everyday things."  
  
    "Oh." Ria seemed disappointed. In just a moment she perked up again. "Let me know how much it'll be for your friend to work up my bear hide," she said, "and I'll give you the gold before you leave tomorrow."  
  
    "She won't want payment until you're happy with what she makes," Ehlana advised her. "If you want to give me, say, a hundred, I can give her that as a good-faith payment, and she'll let you know what she wants for the thing when she's done. You want armour, or—?"  
  
    "Armour," Ria said vehemently. "I've never had a new set just for myself."  
  
    Ehlana nodded, thoughtful. "Then this one will have to be special."  
  
    "It will be," Ria assured her.  
  
    They passed through the noisy market once more, at a more leisurely pace. Ehlana stopped and bought some bread and fruit from Carlotta, and asked after the merchant's well-being. Since she'd had a "talk" with Mikael, he hadn't bothered Carlotta with his unwanted advances, but other men in town still pestered the poor woman. Carlotta's daughter Mila walked around the stall and stood next to Ehlana, listening. Ehlana looked down and smiled. "How are you today, Mila?"  
  
    "Good," she said. "It's hard work, helping Mama sell things. But she promised to take me to the tavern for supper tonight. Right, Mama?"  
  
    "That's right, little fairy," Carlotta said with a warm smile. "Come around here and stop bothering Ehlana."  
  
    "It's no bother," Ehlana assured her. "But we shouldn't be taking up all your time. I just wanted to make sure that you and Mila were well." She gathered up the bread and fruit she'd purchased, and hesitated. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I forgot." She reached into her pouch and withdrew two gold coins; she set them on the stall counter. "For last week."  
  
    Carlotta reached out, hesitated with her hand over the coins, and frowned. "Last week? I don't—" Ehlana winked and waved and turned to head up the stone steps behind Carlotta's stall.  
  
    Ria looked down at her when they were out of earshot. "What happened last week?" she asked quietly.  
  
    "It rained last week," Ehlana reminded her.  
  
    "Yeah, it stormed pretty badly, I remember that."  
  
    "Well, the market had to close on Tirdas and Middas," Ehlana went on. "That was two days' sales Carlotta couldn't make. Mila's growing like a weed. She needs food and new clothes, and it's hard enough for Carlotta to make ends meet as it is."  
  
    "She could marry," Ria pointed out. "There's no shortage of men around who'd be happy to provide for her."  
  
    "She doesn't want to marry," Ehlana said. "And she certainly shouldn't do it just to have a man's money."  
  
    "I'm just saying that the choice is there."  
  
    "Yes," Ehlana stopped, and looked up at Ria. "It's her choice. And she shouldn't be forced to choose something she doesn't want. She's focused on raising her daughter as well as she can. And if I can help in any little way, that's my choice too." She searched Ria's bright eyes, hopeful.  
  
    "You think she shouldn't marry," Ria said slowly.  
  
    "I think she shouldn't have to if it's not something she wants."  
  
    "It would make her life easier, if she did."  
  
    "Is your life easy, Ria?" Ehlana asked, softly. "Why didn't you stay in Cyrodiil, and marry some nice man and let him take care of you?"  
  
    Ria stared down at her. "I'm a warrior," she said. "And I came to the Companions to prove myself, to improve myself. Carlotta's no warrior—"  
  
    "No, she isn't," Ehlana agreed. "Not with a sword and shield. But she would fight to the death to protect her daughter. And everything she does, every day, all day, is another defensive strike in the fight to raise her daughter well. We all fight in our own way, to live our lives as we want. We should be supporting one another in that fight."  
  
    Ria opened her mouth and shut it, shook her head and grinned ruefully. "You have a—unique way of looking at the world, my friend. I can't help but see that you're right, though I've never considered it before."  
  
    "I'm always right, Ria," Ehlana said with amusement. "Even when I'm wrong." That made Ria laugh, and together they continued into the shade of the blossoming Gildergreen. Brenuin, seated on a bench, stared dolefully at the base of the enormous trunk. Ehlana stopped beside him, and he looked up; his bleary eyes took a moment to focus on her.  
  
    "Ah, it's you," he said with a small, hopeful smile. "And how are you today?"  
  
    "Well," Ehlana said, "I've got this fruit and bread, and if I dare take it into Jorrvaskr, Tilma will be very hurt, thinking that I don't care for her food. Can you take it off my hands?"  
  
    Brenuin's pupils dilated at the sight of fresh green apples and crusty bread. "I—suppose I could do that," he said, and held up his hands in supplicating fashion. Ehlana set the food carefully into his palms and Brenuin stuffed most of it into the folds of his ragged tunic, with a quick glance around to ensure no one had seen it. He held one apple in both hands, reverently, and looked up at Ehlana again. "Divines bless you, my friend. You've done good in this world."  
  
    "Make sure Tilma doesn't find out where you got it," Ehlana warned him.  
  
    "She'll hear nothing from me," Brenuin promised.  
  
    "Thank you." She winked at the old beggar and resumed her trek toward Jorrvaskr, Ria once more at her side.  
  
    "Why do you give him so much?" Ria scolded her quietly.  
  
    "I have it to spare," Ehlana pointed out.  
  
    "I'm not sure you're actually any sort of fierce warrior," Ria said then, and bumped Ehlana's shoulder with her own as they walked. "You're actually an avatar of Stendarr, aren't you? Come to test us, see if we've learned the Commands?"  
  
    " _The Nine say, above all else, be good to one another_ ," Ehlana recited.  
  
    "Yes, but you're _too_ good," Ria told her.  
  
    Ehlana paused, her hand outstretched toward the door to Jorrvaskr. "No," she said quietly, "I'm not." Without another word she pulled open the door and stepped inside.  
  
    A burst of warmth, suffused with the scent of woodsmoke and roasted meat, enveloped them, and Ehlana inhaled gratefully. Tilma was just setting a bread basket on the table, and looked up with a smile. "Welcome home, girls," she said. "Can I get anything for you?"  
  
    "Maybe a whole stag, stewed up with potatoes and apples," Ehlana suggested, as she moved further into the hall.  
  
    Tilma chuckled. "You bring me a stag," she said, "and I'll do my best. In the meantime, there's warm bread here, and fresh butter, and some cold sliced mutton and ham."  
  
    "Thank you, Tilma," Ria said, as she strode round the table to take a seat. "You're the best."  
  
    "Mm-hm." Tilma's eyes twinkled as she removed some empty plates from the table and left the main hall.  
  
    Ehlana pulled off her helmet and looked around the hall. "I'm going to put my stuff in the room," she said. "You go ahead and eat." Ria, already smearing butter on a hunk of bread, waved dismissively with her knife. Ehlana shook her head and smiled as she made her way down the stairs and into the living quarters.  
  
    "Thought you'd gone." Athis' voice startled her. Ehlana turned; he was seated, with a mug in one hand, a chunk of bread and cheese in the other.  
  
    "I did go," she said, and stopped to face him. "And then I came back. How extraordinary."  
  
    He grinned, shook his head. "I meant, I thought you'd gone again."  
  
    "Trying to get rid of me, are you?" she wondered. "It won't be that easy."  
  
    Red eyes narrowed. "Is that a challenge? I am very sure I could take you, little Breton."  
  
    "You won't get a chance if you keep grating on Njada's nerves," Ehlana retorted, and gestured at his face, where distinct bruising discoloured his cheek and the skin around his left eye. "What was it this time?"  
  
    He snorted rudely. "She simply can't take a little criticism."  
  
    "She's not called Stonearm because she's carved of pretty marble," Ehlana advised him. "Maybe lay off the criticism. You'll live long enough to get that fortune and glory you're looking for."  
  
    Athis snickered again as Ehlana continued down the hall, and she heard Torvar call out to him, heard them talking in low tones that faded as she turned a corner.  
  
    She struck a wall and yelped, looked up into clear blue eyes and felt her face grow hot.  
  
    "You all right?" Farkas looked down at her, amused. A strand of his hair fell forward and she resisted the compulsion to reach up and tuck it behind his ear.  
  
    "I'm fine," she said, scolding, and smacked his chestplate lightly with the back of her gauntlet. "What are you doing, lurking around corners like that?"  
  
    "I wasn't lurking," he said. "I was waiting. Heard you coming all the way down." He pointed at the ceiling and drew a small circle in the air. "Stealth isn't exactly your strength."  
  
    He wasn't wrong, of course.  
  
    "What is your point?" Ehlana demanded, feigning a haughty demeanour.  
  
     Farkas grinned. "No need to lurk," he said, "when what you're looking for is stomping in your direction."  
  
    She rolled her eyes and sighed, folded her arms as best she could with her helmet still in one hand. "And why were you looking for me, hm?"  
  
    He leaned against the wall with one shoulder, his own arms folded. "Do I need a reason?"  
  
    "Yes, you do."  
  
    He flashed sharp teeth again. "Then I guess I'm lucky I have one."  
  
    Ehlana made a face. "Are you going to share it with me?"  
  
    "Maybe." His calm gaze roved over her, head to toe, and back up to settle on her face. "Was it you left that spiced mead in my room, just before you left?"  
  
    "Why in the world would I have done that?" she wondered, and her chest fluttered a little.  
  
    "You tell me."  
  
    "I tried some in Riften," she told him, and tried to sound nonchalant. "Thought it might be to your taste."  
  
    He smiled, genuinely, and it softened all the hard lines of his face, warmed the colour of his eyes, and made Ehlana's knees a little weak. "It's really good," he said. "Didn't drink it all though. Thought we could share the last couple of bottles." The tips of his ears were suddenly slightly pink.  
  
    "I would like that very much," Ehlana agreed, and returned his smile, sure that she looked like a lovestruck fool.  
  
    "Good," Farkas said. "In the meantime, Skjor wants to talk to you."  
  
    "How long were you down here waiting for me, just to tell me that?" Ehlana asked.  
  
    He shrugged. "He's in no hurry, so I wasn't either. Heard you and Ria come in."  
  
    "So you took a chance that I wasn't going to run into, say, Aela, and get sent off to who-knows-where?"  
  
    "Yep."  
  
    "Where is he?"  
  
    Farkas shrugged. "Probably upstairs."  
  
    "He's not in the hall. I was just there."  
  
    "Yard, maybe."  
  
    "You're not a very good messenger," Ehlana told him.  
  
    "Never claimed to be." He grinned. "I just do what I'm told."  
  
    "Not very well." She patted his chestplate with her palm and inhaled softly when he caught her hand swiftly with his own. His fingers were warm, the skin calloused and rough from years of hunting and fighting. He didn't take his eyes from hers as he lifted her hand and ducked his head to press his lips tenderly to the backs of her fingers.  
  
    She melted inside, and silently gave thanks to the Divines that the most he could see of his effect on her was her flushed cheeks.  
  
    "Then maybe you'll have to teach me how to do it right," Farkas said, his voice soft, rumbling low in his chest.  
  
    With great reluctance, Ehlana withdrew her fingers from his. "I'd—better go see Skjor," she said.  
  
    "Yeah, you'd better." He folded his arms again and he smiled a little, plainly pleased with himself. Ehlana turned and headed back the way she'd come, climbed the stairs and made her way out to the yard to find Skjor.  
  


* * *

  
      
    The door to his room swung open without preamble and Farkas sat up, startled out of sleep. Aela stood in unmistakeable silhouette against the dim light in the hall.  
  
    "Did you not hear me call you?" she snapped.  
  
    "Obviously not," Farkas said. He rubbed his face with his palms and dragged his fingers through his hair to neaten it. "What do you want?"  
  
    "We need you, right now," Aela said. "She's run off."  
  
    He eyed her a moment. "Who's run off?"  
  
    She growled. "Ehlana," she said. "She's running wild out there and we lost her. We need all eyes out looking." She hesitated as Farkas stood and stretched.  
  
    "She _is_ a grown woman," Farkas reminded her, "and she can take care of herself, from everything I've seen."  
  
    Aela thrust a finger toward his chest, and Farkas smelled blood. He looked down to see a bandage on her left arm. "She is in beast form," Aela said through clenched teeth, "and we need to bring her back before the guards catch up and kill her."  
  
    He scowled. "You're telling me you _turned_ her?"  
  
    "Yes, you fool, that is what I am saying. Now get out there and help us find her." She moved to leave.  
  
    "Why did you do that?" Farkas demanded. "You know Kodlak doesn't want us changing. I'm pretty sure he didn't want you to turn _her_."  
  
    Aela turned a glare on him. "The beast form is our strength, and a blessing," she said. "And I don't care what Kodlak says about it. He's getting addled in his dotage."  
  
    Farkas bristled at that. Elderly or not, Kodlak was still Harbinger, and his orders were never given lightly. "You and Skjor," he said. "You two took her and turned her, without letting anyone else know—"  
  
    "Yes," Aela snapped. "It's done, ice-brain. Now get the hell out there and help us look for her." She wheeled away again and Farkas closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.  
  
    He sighed, rubbed his face again. He donned his armour, reached for his sword and sheathed it on his back. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it, but one never knew what was lurking out in the dark.  
  
    He made his way upstairs and out the front doors of Jorrvaskr. He paused and listened to the quiet sounds of Whiterun at night; he lifted his head and breathed deeply.  
  
    All the Companions had passed this way, not long before. Farkas descended the steps toward the city; the other Companions, Vilkas included, had scattered in different directions. Farkas considered a moment.  
  
    She was probably afraid, he mused; he had been terrified at his first transformation. He didn't remember what he had done, just what he had felt, and the fear had driven him to flight. The others had caught up to him nearly halfway to Riverwood, they had told him, and he was by no means the fastest of the Circle; depending on how long she had been gone, Ehlana could be to the Hold's borders by now.  
  
    He cursed Aela silently—he would never do it to her face lest he lose his own—and headed for the western gate.  
  
    "Hail, Companion," he was greeted by a nearby guard. Farkas grunted a reply, climbed to the edge of the guard's lookout and leaped over the side. He landed heavily on his feet and chuckled as he heard the guard swearing behind him.  
  
    He cast about for a moment before deciding on a direction. She had come from the south, he recalled her saying, before she'd reached Whiterun. He headed that way at a steady pace; there was no use in running without knowing exactly where she was.  
  
    He'd travelled less than an hour when he picked up the trail; claw-marks in the soil and animals stirring that did not normally move at night. Without slowing he followed the signs until at last he spotted her—heaving, panting, pressed back against the trunk of a ragged tree, eyes wild. The moons were high and their light limned the edges of her fur, made her shine red-gold.  
  
    "Hey," Farkas called out softly as he drew close. She froze and stared at him, yellow eyes glinting in the moons' dim light. He stopped and held out his hands, palms forward, to show he was no threat. Ehlana looked down at his hands and up at his face again, trembling, teeth bared, ears flat to her head. "It's just me," Farkas went on, and took a small step forward. "You know me, right?" As he moved she crouched as though to spring away, and Farkas stopped. "You know who I am," he went on. "I know you're scared. I'm not going to hurt you. I came to bring you home."  
  
    She blinked, moved her head from side to side as though to clear it, exhaled and slumped to the ground. Farkas leaped forward and caught her; she snarled and struggled to get away. With one hand clamped to the back of her neck he held her down easily until she gave in, gasping, limp against the grass. When he was sure she would no longer fight him, he shifted to sit cross-legged on the ground, and gathered her into his lap.  
  
    Even as a wolf, even in her fear, she smelled sweet and clean, like grass and snow and sunshine, and Farkas pressed his face to the top of her head to breathe in the scent. His own blood roared suddenly to life, demanding release, that he rise and claim her for his own—he had won over all others, had he not? He had chased her down and she was _his_ —  
  
   _No. No. I control the blood. The blood does not control me._  
  
    He breathed deeply, slowly, to calm himself. Ehlana's head drooped against his shoulder, and Farkas pushed aside the traitorous thoughts, concentrated on her. Her eyes were unfocused and her breath shallow; the transformation was beginning to wear off. As her limbs shrank, her fur faded and her fierce jaws receded, Farkas adjusted his hold on her.  
  
    Out of her armour, with nothing on, she was tiny and fragile in his big clumsy arms, like a little bird too easily crushed if he wasn't careful. She shivered and Farkas cursed himself for not thinking to bring a blanket or a cloak or anything at all to wrap her in.  
  
    He looked down at her again. There was only one way he was going to be able to keep her warm. With purpose he stood, shifted her weight in his arms and cast about for shelter.  
  


* * *

  
  
    Her dreams were frightening and she struggled against them; her arms and legs stiffened and Ehlana woke without a sound. Her head pounded abominably, and her body ached. She took a deep breath; she could smell smoke and snow, and something else familiar—  
  
    She was resting against Farkas' side, his arm draped protectively around her shoulders. His head drooped, his face was concealed by his hair, and his breath was even. Ehlana blinked sleep out of her eyes and looked around; they were in a cave, and a cheery fire warmed the immediate area. She didn't remember coming here with him. She shifted a little and looked down at herself with sudden concern; she was wearing only an overlarge shirt. She lifted the rough fabric to her face and inhaled the scent of sweat and steel.  
  
     _Farkas._  
  
    She wore nothing but the shirt, and there was no sign of her own clothing and armour nearby; Farkas had put his chestplate on without anything beneath it. Thoughtful, Ehlana reached up and gently lifted the curtain of Farkas' thick hair, tucked it behind his ear. He raised his head, blinked blearily at her. "Hey," he said, his voice hoarse with sleep. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"  
  
    "Terrible," Ehlana said. "My head hurts. _Everything_ hurts."  
  
    He straightened his back, stretched out his arms and rolled his head from side to side, eliciting several loud pops and cracks. "Some rest will put that to rights," he told her. "You're not injured anywhere."  
  
    "And speaking of that," she said, "why am I naked, Farkas?"  
  
    Farkas made a little face. "You're not _actually_ naked," he pointed out. She gave him a dubious look, one eyebrow raised. He cleared his throat. "Skjor and Aela," he went on. "They turned you. You remember that?"  
  
    She considered. She remembered Skjor taking her to the Underforge—  
  
    "Aela was in beast form," she said slowly. "They had me drink her blood."  
  
    "Yeah."  
  
    Ehlana frowned, tried unsuccessfully to grasp at a hazy memory. "And then—?"  
  
    "I don't know," he told her. "Aela woke me up to tell me you were gone. We all went out looking for you."  
  
    She felt a little queasy. "I don't remember anything after—after the blood."  
  
    "You changed, and you probably panicked," Farkas said gently. "It happens, the first time. It's scary and you're disoriented, and the blood calls louder than your own thoughts." He paused. "So, you ran, and you were too fast for Aela and Skjor to catch you. So they shook us all awake and sent us all out looking for you, before something happened."  
  
    Ehlana took a deep breath, closed her eyes and reached up to rub at her temples. "Where are we now?"  
  
    "South," Farkas told her. "You got almost to Riverwood."  
  
    "And you found me here?"  
  
    "Not far from here, yeah." He shifted a little, stretched out his legs and drew one knee back toward his chest. "I figure you probably just ran out of fire, else you'd probably be over the border and into Cyrodiil by now." He grinned, then sobered. "Head hurts?"  
  
    "Like I got clubbed by a giant," she said with a soft groan. "Is that normal?"  
  
    "Well," Farkas said, and he rummaged through the contents of a small pouch. "Everyone's different. You might've gotten into a fight, though I don't think you did—" She frowned. "No blood on you anywhere when I found you," Farkas hurried to explain. "You might've fallen. Or you might just be exhausted, which I'm pretty sure you are, running this far like you did." He held out a tiny vial to her. Its contents sparkled in the firelight. "This should help." Ehlana took the vial and broke the wax seal around the cap, lifted it to her nose. "It's just a stamina potion," Farkas told her with amusement. "Nothing weird."  
  
    "I didn't think—" she hesitated and looked up at him. "No, I didn't think you were trying to give me anything weird. It's just a habit." She smiled weakly, and tossed back the potion. In a moment her body began to tingle, and the ache in her joints and her head was almost immediately lessened. "Thank you, Farkas."  
  
    "Welcome."  
  
    "So all the Companions went looking for me," she said, "but only _you_ found me?"  
  
    Despite the fire it was too dark to see properly, but she was sure he flushed a bit at that, and his mouth quirked in a little smile. "Yeah, well. Wasn't easy. You're really fast, and you had a head start." He sobered. "You were still so scared when I caught up to you."  
  
    "And naked?"  
  
    "Well," he said, "you don't keep everything on when you transform. Your stuff is probably still in the Underforge."  
  
    "And so you put your shirt on me."  
  
    "It's cold out," he told her with an apologetic shrug. "I didn't have a blanket or anything."  
  
    She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Farkas," she said softly. "You always do look out for me."  
  
    "You don't usually need looking out for," he told her, and this time his face was definitely red. "I just wanted to make sure you—I mean, you needed to be covered, and I figured that in here with something on is better than out there with nothing."  
  
    She settled against him and sighed, and after a moment he wrapped his arm around her again. "So," she said. "I'm a werewolf now?"  
  
    "Yeah." Farkas said. "I wish they hadn't done it."  
  
    "Why? You're one."  
  
    "And would rather not be."  
  
    "I'm sorry," Ehlana murmured. "They made it seem like I didn't have a choice."  
  
    "I'm sorry, too," he said, and his cheek was warm on the top of her head. "You shouldn't have to deal with the blood. They want it, Skjor and Aela. They hunt together most nights. They think Kodlak doesn't know." He sighed. "He knows, but he won't confront them about it, because technically they're not doing anything wrong."  
  
    Ehlana watched the fire. The stamina potion had worked marvelously, and the pain was negligible now; she was able to think a little more clearly. "So, what now?"  
  
    "That's up to you," he said. "We can stay here 'til dawn, and hope the sun is a little warmer when it comes up. Or we can start out now." He turned his head a little as he spoke. His breath was soft and warm on her ear, and his whiskers tickled her cheek.  
  
    "What were they afraid would happen?" Ehlana asked at last. "Skjor and Aela, I mean, that they sent everyone out to look for me."  
  
    "Anything, I guess," Farkas replied. "Guards might attack. Silver Hand. You might've got yourself tangled up with something big you couldn't handle. People don't know the Circle are beasts, and they wouldn't understand. They see something wild and they attack."  
  
    "And you say that everyone runs, the first time."  
  
    "Pretty much, yeah."  
  
    "And they know this, and even with you and Vilkas both in the Circle, the two of them didn't take any precautions at all to ensure my safety or the safety of the people of Whiterun?" Farkas was silent at that. Ehlana sighed and snuggled just a little closer to him, grasped his wrist and pulled his arm tighter around her, laced her fingers through his. "They can wait," she said crossly, "and wonder, and if they're so inclined they can worry. I'm safe and warm here with you and we are going to get some sleep before we head back home."  
  
    "Fair enough," Farkas said. He shifted a little. "Are you comfortable?"  
  
    "I'm warm, and the company is good."  
  
    "Next time I'll bring a blanket," he promised, with a grin.  
  
    She snorted, closed her eyes. "I'm keeping your shirt."  
  
    "Hey, I _need_ that shirt."  
  
    "You gave it to me."  
  
    "It doesn't even fit you."  
  
    "I like it," she informed him, "so I'm keeping it."  
  
    "I suppose I don't have a choice in the matter." He did not, she noted, seem at all displeased.  
  
    "No, you do not."  
  
    "Then I'll just wait until you're out of it for some reason, and take it back." He squeezed her hand gently.  
  
    "Good luck with that," Ehlana wished him, and yawned. He pressed his lips to her hair, gently.  
  
    "Thanks," he said with a low chuckle. "I look forward to it." 

**Author's Note:**

> Not the end of the story, but the end of this portion of it, which jumps in time simply because most of the major events therein are in the game. :)


End file.
